


Phantom Menace

by htebazytook



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, PWP, Romance, Slash, Smut, force ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-04
Updated: 2008-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the result of Spike's Star Wars marathon leading to my rediscovery of a) my love for Star Wars,  b) my love for Ewan, c) my distaste for Anakin in general.  Time frame should become quickly evident.  With apologies to Walt Whitman.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Phantom Menace

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of Spike's Star Wars marathon leading to my rediscovery of a) my love for Star Wars, b) my love for Ewan, c) my distaste for Anakin in general. Time frame should become quickly evident. With apologies to Walt Whitman.

**Title:** Phantom Menace  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** hard R (PWP, AU-ish, but what in SW isn't, really? Naughty words no decent Jedi should be using. Necrophilia, sort of. Mild implications of H/C and a dash of exhibitionism. (Oh, don't I sound savvy with my unnecessary detail? :P))  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairings:** Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi  
 **Author's Notes:** This is the result of Spike's Star Wars marathon leading to my rediscovery of a) my love for Star Wars, b) my love for Ewan, c) my distaste for Anakin in general. Time frame should become quickly evident. With apologies to Walt Whitman.

 

 

"Lost a padawan, have you? How embarrassing."

"Indeed, _Master Yoda_ ," Obi-Wan intoned, rolling his eyes. He sighed as he collapsed into a chair. "And I didn't _lose_ him. I knew where he was. I merely lost track. He is so _bloody_ —oh, I don't know. Stubborn, I suppose. But people throw around that word too lightly—people who have not met Anakin Skywalker—no, he is something far more fearsome than mere stubbornness: he is Anakin." Obi-Wan heaved another sigh.

"Oh, it's only been a few short months. Give it time."

Obi-Wan leaned forward to stare mindlessly at the carpet. "I hate you, master," he shrugged, folding his arms and letting his head fall into them. "'S all your fault," he mumbled.

After a few solid, gloriously silent minutes, Obi-Wan turned his head to the side. Unfortunately seeing the world made him feel miserable again. "I shouldn't miss you—you're right in front of me, but I do," he said quietly.

Qui-Gon had changed, not just by way of being dead and bright blue and somewhat translucent. As a Jedi, he had been relatively serene during his life but you were _really_ fooling yourself if you didn't realize that at least half of Jedi serenity was forced (ah, no pun intended). His could sense that his old master was more carefree, and of _course_ he was—he didn't have to deal with Anakin or the Council or brainless creatures with floppy ears or, let's be honest, Obi-Wan for a padawan. Oh sure, he could sit by and continue guiding him like this, but when you got right down to it Qui-Gon only experienced the living stage of the galaxy as an audience member. Bastard.

"To die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier."

Obi-Wan didn't alter his forlorn expression—pouty and put upon but still mature and hope still sparkling away in his eyes. Qui-Gon swallowed. It was, well . . . yes, it was unquestionably enticing.

"What?"

Qui-Gon cleared his throat and settled back into the role of enigmatic authority figure. "Jedi do not sweat and whine about their condition," he said wryly. "They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, they do not make me sick discussing their duty to the Force . . . not one is dissatisfied . . ."

"Oh, leave me alone." He hated to feel so defeated by exhaustion. Exhausted by defeat. Something.

Obi-Wan continued to watch Qui-Gon steadily, waiting for the inspiration that was surely forthcoming and Qui-Gon knew he would regret it, but what else could he say?: "You know that Anakin is the Chosen One—"

Obi-Wan sprang into animation. "Yes, very well, the little brat is indeed the Chosen One—and believe me he doesn't need to be told so. He's pretty convinced of his significance without any help from _me_ , let alone a choice ancient prophecy or two. But who am I to talk? For all I know that variety of arrogance just comes with the Chosen One territory."

"You forget he is a child."

"Oh, come off it— _I_ was better behaved at his age. No, before his age: in the womb, I was the spitting image of peace, knowledge, serenity, harmony and, I assure you, the Force."

"Indeed, your sharp tongue has only manifest in the last five minutes," Qui-Gon said sarcastically.

"Blame the Chosen One," Obi-Wan shot back, throwing up his hands and sighing again. It was true that Anakin was proving to be more of a handful than any ordinary padawan, regardless of age or midi-chlorian count. He was as bad as the worst, but he was also as good as the best. Obi-Wan sighed. "You know I _will_ train him whether he is the Chosen One or not, binding me to him as you have. I can't very well refuse a dying man's last breath," he more or less groaned it out, sinking back into sullenness until his forehead rested on his arms again. After a moment he straightened, glanced at him with eyes that suggested sharp stormy weather, both in color and candor. Obi-Wan's energy was so young and exposed today, tendrils of panic and despair flitting through it. And his hair was growing out and becoming increasingly feathery and golden and enticing. So many instincts for comfort of various sorts were suggesting themselves to Qui-Gon.

"It really is foolish to miss me when I'm right here," he mused. "I'll _always_ be with you."

Obi-Wan snorted. He deeply suspected Qui-Gon took pleasure in haunting him so stereotypically.

"Boo."

"And kindly refrain from sullying my innermost thoughts with your crass commentary." But it was said without malice.

"You must be patient, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I must be patient. I'm glad you're here to tell me these things."

Qui-Gon smiled. "Have you learned the lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you? Have you not learned great lessons from those who braced themselves against you, and disputed passage with you?"

Obi-Wan sighed again, which Qui-Gon thought was getting a little old. "I know, I know, I know, I know. I'm just so weary of it all. Please allow me a little angst, master. It will pass soon enough, I have no doubt."

Qui-Gon had moved closer to stand behind his chair. His presence was especially soothing since his return in this (very blue) form. Obi-Wan couldn't help melting.

"Indulge me, master—did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Obi-Wan asked impishly.

"Yes, actually." Qui-Gon shook his head. "You're going to have to stop with those atrocious quips one of these days."

"I most certainly will not," Obi-Wan murmured, busy basking in Qui-Gon's aura.

Qui-Gon stroked his hair—all floppy blondish chunks sitting atop his head. Obi-Wan flinched but didn't protest. Sighed. Returned to glowering at the universe for plaguing him so. Qui-Gon's hands went to rub his shoulders.

"Master . . ." Obi-Wan warned even as he relaxed into it. His attentions seemed to be having an opposite effect but Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan better than that, felt him begin to anticipate.

"Not anymore," Qui-Gon pointed out, finding the nape of Obi-Wan's neck all too delectable and couldn't help deviating to drop kisses there, knowing how it awakened Obi-Wan's baser senses.

"Come on, stop it." Obi-Wan stood up, walked to the window without so much as glancing at him. He closed his eyes. Giving in would be a welcome reward after a truly shitty couple of months, but just the fact that he was even considering yielding to it piled the guilt on thicker—what kind of Jedi did you have to be to lose your own padawan (in the Jedi Temple, of all places) and consider carnal gratification as some kind of solution to healing your pedagogical shortcomings. Oh dear, thinking that verbosely hurt. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe if he could get Qui-Gon to leave him alone for long enough he could get some sleep, surely that would be just as refreshing . . .

"You'd be the kind of Jedi who is only human, Obi-Wan. You need to qu—"

"I do not need to quiet my mind! I need to stop blocking everything out with this ridiculous mind quieting business and exercise some real authority over my wayward padawan, _master_."

Qui-Gon was already halfway across the room—Obi-Wan had turned around at some point—"Oh, just quiet your mind," Qui-Gon teased, still advancing.

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"Yes," Obi-Wan breathed, landing with his back against his fine floor-to-ceiling view of the city and his mouth caught up in Qui-Gon's, wondering if the window was opaque and finding he didn't particularly care one way or the other—few people would be able to see, well, a ghost, let alone describe a Jedi Knight engaged in amorous activities with the empty air. Obi-Wan might have found the odd angle—his head stuck and straining backwards—much more awkward if the firm immobility of it didn't strike him as really awfully hot. He kept his eyes closed because it was creepy to stare straight through somebody no matter who you were or how accustomed to it you might be and he was so grateful for twists of fate and tangibility, so grateful that Qui-Gon knew how to kiss him just perfectly, knew how to push his buttons, good and bad, being able to trust in that was relieving and wonderful and Obi-Wan was bloody eager for this . . . Qui-Gon's hands on his face, in his hair holding him there, ah . . . "Ah, master . . ." Obi-Wan was so ready for this, so ready—couldn't hold back the moans leaking out of him, couldn't be bothered to disguise his desire.

He'd been struggling for a pathetically long time with Qui-Gon's belt when he realized Qui-Gon had been using the Force to gradually peel away Obi-Wan's own layers, and so was unprepared when he felt fingers trailing down his chest and moaned something along the lines of, "Ohhh, please. Oh, master, I—" but dissolved into inarticulate panting after that.

"You can stop calling me 'master' anytime."

"You like it," Obi-Wan mumbled, drawing him swiftly closer and kissing him with dizzy, ardent focus, brow furrowing with intention, his whole body rushing with heat from it. Qui-Gon could sense it and fed off of it. He pushed Obi-Wan's tunic back in order to travel his neck and shoulders and wherever else Obi-Wan's reactions inspired him to go, making sure to hold him tightly against the window and making sure to press his leg between Obi-Wan's to watch him fall to pieces.

"Mas—Qui-Gon, this is a little, uh, fast, but don't get me wrong I mean, that's an excellent, brilliant, thing, and uh, _uhhh_ . . ."

Obi-Wan strained against him deliciously and Qui-Gon started to say something—

"And I swear if you even think about complacently reminding me of patience . . ." Obi-Wan panted. Whenever they fell to these sorts of activities Obi-Wan seemed unable to shut up, which only meant Qui-Gon had to stop his mouth, so really that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

By this time Obi-Wan couldn't be said to have much legitimate clothing left. His arms wound around Qui-Gon's neck and his fingers pressed into his back, kissing deeply and moaning continuously, punctuated by whimpers and the fugitive syllables of thoughtless words.

Obi-Wan had finally freed himself from Qui-Gon's hold against the window and his mouth ran randomly wildly amazingly over Qui-Gon's neck in the most . . . in the most slutty way imaginable—the way his whole body committed to every movement, sinuous choreography in Obi-Wan's hands arms mouth moans, his whole body. Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's lips on his chest, graceful hands and nose and chin nudging his tunic away. Obi-Wan had been developing a scruffy kind of facial hair Qui-Gon hadn't known was possible for him and strangely it felt smoother against his skin than when it had been closely shaven. Something about it was enticing, something about adulthood and confidence.

"Obi-Wan . . ." Qui-Gon breathed.

"Mmm, yes?" Oh yes.

"You . . . I . . . oh, have to . . ."

Oh. _Yes._

By now there were enough layers missing from their painstakingly proper Jedi attire that when Qui-Gon slammed Obi-Wan back against the window he could feel all the important parts of Obi-Wan's anatomy and how very enthusiastic they were about the proceedings. It was so easy to hold him there with the Force and drive him crazy with light teasing strokes or lengthy long firm ones that froze him in time with pleasure.

Obi-Wan gripped the remains of Qui-Gon's (see-through, blue—this was so weird) tunic as he started to move his hand with intent, slowly became aware of a loss of heat—where had Qui-Gon's lips gone? _Oh_ , there they were, and tongue and breath and torturous touch on his erection. He felt his eyes roll and knew his mouth was hanging open stupidly but what could you do when your master was doing unspeakably wonderful things to your cock other than pull shakily at his transparent clothes and try not to die on the spot?

Suddenly Qui-Gon's mouth engulfed him and Obi-Wan's head fell back with a thunk and a throaty groan. Again, way too weird to look, but it felt bloody amazing ghost or not . . . Obi-Wan couldn't be sure but he thought it was his own voice looping the words "fuck", "yes", and "master" ad nauseam.

He was quite mindless by the time Qui-Gon's ministrations had ceased, leaving him achingly hard, and when he was back within reach again, Obi-Wan thought it was high time he reciprocated

"Master, just let me . . ." Obi-Wan began.

Qui-Gon was clearly as aroused as he was and Obi-Wan positively loved to watch his cool demeanor shatter, started kissing the side of Qui-Gon's neck in slow motion, lower and lower and sliding down his body now—until the Force replaced him against that blasted window rather, well, forcefully. "I'm supposed to be comforting you," Qui-Gon said placidly, in total contrast with his aggressive passion which was, Obi-Wan had to admit, a huge turn on.

He saw something move out of the corner of his eye and realized it was Qui-Gon's doing—little bottle of bath oil bobbing across the room to them. Obi-Wan seemed transfixed by its path until Qui-Gon distracted him by tracing his hardness lightly. Obi-Wan shuddered. Their liberal use of the Force for their own lewd purposes was really quite obscene, he thought distantly. The speed with which this encounter had accelerated had him caught in a thick cloud of arousal he was unable to think properly in. His body was twisting against Qui-Gon's trying to pull him closer, not taking into consideration that Qui-Gon was busy opening the bottle and sucking at his neck and stroking his cock too slowly.

"Urrgh, c'mon, master, now, _please_?" You're the one that set the pace, you glowy bastard.

 _Indeed, Obi-Wan. I do apologize,_ Qui-Gon's voice thrummed in his mind. Obi-Wan felt oil-slick fingers slide abruptly into him but was glad of the sharper pain because that only meant it ebbed more quickly. He didn't want to deal with preparations, he wanted more sensation, he wanted Qui-Gon to just—

Qui-Gon groaned as he pushed his way into Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan tensed involuntarily and gasped at the intrusion but Qui-Gon didn't really wait for him to adjust and thrust into him insistently, not exactly demanding but so damn insistent and Obi-Wan gave himself over to it, feeling pleasure building subtly in the background. He managed to free his legs from Qui-Gon's invisible hold, his master being preoccupied as he was, and used them to pull him closer, pleaded with whispers and the press of his legs and clenching hands for more. Qui-Gon's eyes opened halfway, ridiculously blue and lustful and he touched his lips to Obi-Wan's, then his fingers and let them trail down Obi-Wan's chest, teased his erection dizzyingly before gripping his hips and thrusting hard.

" _Ahh_ ," Obi-Wan sighed, relief and pleasure spreading through him at last. Delirious grins at the joy of it battled with abandonment on his face. Qui-Gon was breathing heavily in his ear and his loss of control and the feeling, the purely physical feel of him seemed such an implausible ecstasy. "Oh dear oh dear _ohhhh_ yes that's perfect, you know—ah—" Qui-Gon's mouth attacked his, tongue swirling and the silky vagueness amid the quick mind-numbing thrusts of his cock stole Obi-Wan's breath and he closed his eyes and felt like he was falling or imploding and he needed to mouth at his master's neck here and bite his shoulder there and beg always for more, harder, yes, yes, yes, just _don't stop_ . . .

Obi-Wan came too quickly. He wanted it to build up again, wouldn't mind a whole afternoon of debauched pleasure, not at all, but then Qui-Gon came with Obi-Wan's name surging through uneven breaths and Obi-Wan found he really was satisfied enough. In fact he felt slightly guilty for being so self-absorbed and set to kissing Qui-Gon languorously as they sank to the floor. Surely it was hours of Qui-Gon's mouth and arms around him later when he had collected the energy to move.

"Well, I've certainly cleared my mind," Obi-Wan said, flashing a brilliant smile.

Qui-Gon sighed.

 

 

*


End file.
